


Surprises

by GoodyearTheShippyCat



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Birthday Drinks, Blue Balls, Crying, Denial of Feelings, Drinking & Talking, Drunken Flirting, Due to Alcohol, Frenemies, Frottage, Grinding, Insults, Interrupted, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Mean Girl Phobos, Mildly Dubious Consent, Phobos Tries to Be Nice, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 01:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/pseuds/GoodyearTheShippyCat
Summary: When Phobos finds Abel alone and miserable on his birthday, he takes it upon himself to help the other navigator celebrate.





	Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> A very happy birthday to [prismatic-cannon](http://prismatic-cannon.tumblr.com/)! Have some Phobel fic to celebrate! It seems that these two and alcohol just go together… but you knew that already. I hope your birthday is at least as good as getting drunk with Phobos would be.

_Well, well, well, looks like_ someone _is sucking up to Keeler_ , thought Phobos as he entered the lab and spied Abel still sitting at the same workstation he’d been at that afternoon. The same workstation he’d been happily chattering from about how it was his birthday, and how he was going to miss his tradition of celebrating with his mom. Phobos tried not to gag, remembering how saccharine his colleague’s stories had been. _Ugh, Abel… always so disgustingly perfect._

After forgetting his datapad in the rush to leave once they’d all been dismissed for the day, Phobos had returned to grab it, expecting the lab to be empty. Abel being there at this hour was certainly a surprise, and he couldn’t pass up the chance to find out why.  Walking over from behind him at an angle, Phobos could see the profile of the other navigator’s face bathed in green light from the screens.

 _Someone should tell Abel that really isn’t a good look for him_ , he thought, _makes him look even more sallow and sickly than usual._

But the expression on the other man’s face gave Phobos pause, and kept him from immediately blurting out anything too insulting. Apparently focused on the screen, not even noticing his approach, Abel was staring intently at the analyses currently running. It wasn’t his usual face of concentration, though. Phobos knew what that looked like; when Abel screwed up his features and pinched his brows together, chewing on his lower lip a little. He was going to give himself premature wrinkles doing that. Currently, though, the other navigator’s expression was fallen and slightly sad, face drawn.

“Hey! Abel, what are you doing here so late? Extra work? God, you’re such a brownnoser!” huffed Phobos as he snatched up his datapad, watching as Abel practically jumped in his chair, startled, and spun to face him. 

“Oh! Phobos! Sorry, I guess I didn’t hear you come in,” he said, voice sounding a little rough. He brought a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat quietly.

Phobos leaned against the next desk over, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at Abel. “Isn’t it your birthday? Why aren’t you out celebrating, or like, getting it on with that nasty fighter of yours?”

Before the final words had completely left his mouth, Phobos was already regretting them—a rare occurrence for him—as he saw the other man’s face fall even further. Abel actually burst into tears, turning away and hiding his face in his hands.

 _Seriously?_ Phobos sighed, uncrossed his arms, and looked around. Spying a box of tissues, he grabbed them and then returned to his distraught colleague. He held the box under Abel’s nose where he couldn’t miss it.

“Shhhh! Ugh, shut up, Abel. Pull yourself together!” Phobos watched as Abel took a tissue and began mopping his wet cheeks with it, the cheap military issue paper product quickly disintegrating.

“S-sorry… it’s just… Cain f-forgot my birthday,” said Abel between sniffles, grabbing another tissue from where Phobos had unceremoniously dropped the box on his workstation, “H-he didn’t say anything all day, and then h-he left the mess hall with Deimos after dinner. L-leaving me there, alone.”

“Typical fighters!” exclaimed Phobos, adding, “Obviously you didn’t give him enough reminders, though. So really, it’s your fault that you’re sitting here alone and sad.”

Abel’s lip quivered, new tears springing up at the corners of his eyes.

“NO! Don’t start that again!” ordered Phobos, shoving more tissues at Abel, “Honestly, how you even function amazes me sometimes, Abel. Why you expected a selfish jerk like Cain to think about that, I have no idea. Even sweet, wonderful Porthos would probably forget my birthday if I hadn’t stolen his tablet to set up a series of reminders.”

Abel giggled a little at that and wiped his eyes with the back of a hand. “I wouldn’t worry about anyone on the ship forgetting your birthday, Phobos,” he said, a wobbly smile trying to emerge at the corners of his mouth, pulling at his lip scar, “Pretty sure with the way you went on about your _half-birthday_ , most of us can do the math.”

“Rude!” said Phobos, his mouth falling open in offense. He dropped the handful of crumpled tissues Abel hadn’t taken from him on the workstation desk, where they joined their wet and tattered comrades.

Abel bit his lower lip and reached over the small mountain of tissues to put his display to sleep, leaving the analyses to finish running overnight.

“Do colonists even celebrate birthdays? Mars is so uncivilized...” mused Phobos aloud, “Oh, wait, I guess they must, because Deimos certainly spent a worrying amount of time debating which of the new knives he’d acquired would make the best gift for Cain’s birthday. Or maybe he was deciding which one to use on him? I didn’t bother to ask for clarification. Charades gets so tiring.”

He watched as Abel picked up the tissues, shoving a few of the unused pile into his jacket pocket and dumping the used ones in the trash before returning the box to its original location. _Such an insufferable goody two-shoes_ , thought Phobos, watching him.

“Thanks, Phobos. I… I guess I should call it a night,” said Abel, not sounding convinced by his own words.

“Seriously? Come on, we’re going back to my room,” Phobos insisted, grabbing Abel’s wrist and dragging him out of the lab, “You can’t let your birthday go by without doing at least _something_ to celebrate.”

 

It didn’t take much effort to overrule Abel’s weak attempts to object and return to his own room to sleep. Soon enough they were in Phobos’ empty room, Deimos obviously off doing whatever the fuck he spent his time doing.

 _Probably creeping around stalking someone, or writing bad poetry in a ventilation shaft or something_ , Phobos held back a shudder at the thought of his weird little fighter writing love poems. There weren’t enough words that rhymed with ‘knife’, anyway, so it was probably terrible.

Standing on the lower bunk, Phobos rummaged underneath the thin mattress of the top one, letting out a small noise of triumph when he found what he was looking for. Hopping down to the ground again, he smirked and held the bottle of clear liquid up for Abel to see before sitting down heavily on his own bed and twisting off the cap.

“Um, does that alcohol belong to Deimos?” Abel asked, still standing, “Maybe we shouldn’t drink it…”

 _Spoil sport_ , thought Phobos as he scoffed, dismissing Abel’s point.

“That little shit is always stealing my half-empty bottles. He thinks I don’t notice when I’m drunk, but I’m _actually_ just as perceptive as I am when sober. He’s lucky I’m such a kind-hearted and easy-going person, always letting him get away with it.”

Phobos took a gulp of contraband, resisting the urge to cough at the burn of it going down his throat and the strong fumes from the bottle. Not exactly his favourite drink, but it would do. He patted the bed beside him impatiently, handing the bottle to Abel when he finally sat, perched on the edge like he still wasn’t certain.

Abel sniffed at the bottle and looked like his eyes were going to start watering again. Phobos watched as the other navigator took a small sip and almost choked.

“Wow… that’s really strong stuff,” Abel managed, passing the bottle back.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to learn to like it, then,” said Phobos, “It gets smoother once you’ve had a shot or two. Besides, I’m not going to break out the good booze just to get _you_ drunk as a skunk because your inconsiderate dog of a fighter didn’t think to do anything for your birthday.” He took another swig.

“I’ve never understood that saying… Why would skunks be so intoxicated?”

“Ugh. Shut up before I make you shut up,” said Phobos, putting the bottle right up to Abel’s mouth so he was forced to take it.

After drinking a slightly larger mouthful and handling it better than Phobos expected, Abel asked, “Do you know Deimos’ birthday? Have you two talked about that kind of stuff?”

Phobos just sniffed contemptuously. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Abel, but Deimos _doesn’t talk_.”

“So you two don’t know anything about each other?” Abel frowned, and Phobos became impatient with his apparent inability to either drink or pass the bottle to someone who would.

“Less thinking more drinking, Abel. God, you're terrible at this!”

Abel took an even larger gulp, then passed the bottle. _Finally!_

“That’s kind of sad, though, isn’t it? Don’t you want to be friends with your fighter? Even if he doesn’t talk much… I’m sure _you_ could manage to carry the conversation.”

“Unlike you, Abel, not all of us need to be the center of _everyone’s_ attention. Besides, I have far better ways to spend my time than hanging out with a weird little colonial brat who couldn’t make good conversation if his life depended on it.”

They passed the bottle back and forth a few more times. It was quickly approaching half-empty and Phobos could feel his head buzzing pleasantly from the alcohol. He was about to propose that the two of them go bitch out their fighters, when he looked over and saw Abel’s lower lip trembling again as the other man stared at the dull grey wall.

“Phobos, do you think he even cares? At all?” Abel sounded dangerously close to getting weepy again.

“What did I say about crying, Abel! How are you going to go and seduce Cain into giving you a birthday blow job looking like a drowned tomato? Your stupid hair doesn’t even help hide puffy eyes.”

Abel laughed a little at that, and sniffed, scrubbing a hand over his cheeks. “Okay, right, no more crying. We’re going to have fun tonight, without our fighters!”

“Pfft, they’re boring anyway! They’d probably just want to beat each other up or reminisce about times they got drunk and did something stupid on Mars or something. I’m _far_ more entertaining.”

“Ha! Actually, it is kind of nice to hang out with another navigator,” said Abel, smiling down at the bottle in his hands before taking another sip and passing it back, “I guess I’ve spent so much time with Cain lately…”

“Ugh! Forget about him! For the rest of tonight, the topic is off limits!” Phobos rolled his eyes and took another drink.

“Okay, tonight it’s just you and me!” Abel agreed, cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol, and sounding happier again.

Maybe it was just the contraband, but he was _really_ noticing Abel’s lips all of a sudden. The way the ugly scar twisted them slightly when he smiled and laughed, the way they looked slightly moist after drinking.

 _Abel’s lips look so kissable, even if his eyes_ are _a bit puffy_ , thought Phobos. Then he realized those eyes were staring right back at him, closer than he’d realized. They were dark; almost black-brown. So unusual for someone born on Earth with any kind of money or status—and he knew Abel came from a good enough family. But still kind of fascinating, and different. Not at all what he was used to; having spent so much time staring into Porthos’ pale blue-grey eyes or the striking cerulean ones belonging to a certain Commander-who-would-not-be-named.

Phobos’ attention was drawn back to Abel’s lips when the other man began chewing on the lower one for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

 _What an unattractive habit. Someone really should tell him to stop doing that_ , he thought.

Abel was still looking back at him from beneath lowered lashes, though, breathing coming a little quicker. _Oh, what the hell…_

Phobos leaned over and planted one on him, lingering a little. His lips really were as soft as they looked. He’d have to ask what brand of lip balm Abel favoured—anything that stood up to as much nervous lip licking as that boy did had to be good stuff.

“Happy birthday, Abel,” he said in a sultry voice as he pulled away, their gazes locked on each other.

Phobos didn’t even manage to sit fully upright again before Abel reeled him in with one hand on the back of his neck, the other coming up to rest lightly on his jaw as their mouths met a second time.

“Mmmhh…”

Hearing Abel’s soft hum of pleasure, Phobos smiled against his lips. He let his own open slightly more, deepening the kiss as he tilted his head in Abel’s gentle grasp. He felt the hand at the back of his neck travel further up, stroking through his hair up to the crown of his head, then back down through the smooth locks, pulling him even closer.

_Maybe this will finally convince him of the value of a good conditioner!_

Phobos was almost surprised by Abel’s insistent exploration with hands, lips, and now tongue joining in—tentatively dipping into his mouth before more forcefully pushing in alongside his own. It was enough to get a breathy moan bubbling up from somewhere inside him, only to be smothered by Abel’s lips sealing over his. Enjoying the unexpected turn of events, Phobos let his own hands do some exploring; smoothing over the planes of Abel’s back and shoulders, down his sides to rest on slim hips.

A good thing, too, or he might have toppled over extremely ungracefully courtesy of the contraband when Abel shifted to lean into his space, placing one hand on his chest to push him down to the bed. Clinging to Abel’s hips had the added benefit of pulling the other navigator with him, so they ended up even closer than they’d been while sitting. Abel let out a surprised laugh before diving in for another long, thorough kiss.

Their lips parting for a moment, Abel looked down at Phobos, who couldn’t help staring back. Abel’s pupils were blown, so wide that Phobos could only see a thin sliver of each iris; almost as dark as the centers, so his eyes became like shining black pools in the low light.

“Hhhhh… Phobos,” murmured Abel as he wrapped his arms around the other man, leaning down again to start placing hot, wet, messy kisses along his neck.

“Ah! Abel!” Phobos felt his cock starting to perk up in earnest now. He relished the contrasting sensations of lips gently pressed just behind his ear and hands roaming his sides, right down to firmly sweep the curve of his ass. Phobos could feel Abel’s erection rock against his hip insistently, as they resumed kissing with even more fervour.

_Slutty, slutty Abel, why am I not surprised?_

It wasn’t long before Phobos found himself in a similar state of arousal, however. With a wicked smile, he arched his lower back to grind up against Abel, just to hear him moan. It was a deliciously throaty sound—deeper than his usual, annoying speaking voice—and Phobos delighted in it. Not that he could blame Abel, really. He was, after all, irresistible when he wanted to be. There probably wasn’t a man on the ship safe from him if he set his sights on them.

As things got hotter and heavier, Phobos noticed something strange. Abel was becoming more tentative with his actions; still enthusiastic, just seeming more unsure.

 _Ugh, I guess I have to do_ everything _around here_ , thought Phobos, placing one hand on Abel’s hip and using the other for leverage against the surface of the bunk.

“Oh!”

Abel flipped over easily, looking a bit flustered but letting out a pleased huff as Phobos slid on top of him, switching their positions. His tongue swiped out along his lip wantonly as he panted slightly and squirmed against the mattress to get more friction from where their hips were pressed together.

Looking down at Abel, Phobos couldn’t help admiring the sight of him so turned on; cheeks flushed and stupid hair even more mussed up than usual, falling all over the pillow in a halo of shining blond.

 _I can_ almost _see why Cook is so interested_ , he thought to himself as he began undoing Abel’s jacket to expose more pale skin, _Ooh! He’ll be absolutely livid when he hears that I got into Abel’s pants before he could! He’ll probably be so frustrated that he’ll just_ have _to fuck me up against the nearest surface._

Phobos kissed down Abel’s neck and along his collar bones, biting gently at some fresh, purple hickeys—obviously Cain’s work, so gauche—eliciting a sharp gasp and buck of Abel’s hips each time. Shifting his own body over to lie more on the bed got a whine in response, Abel obviously upset at losing the point of contact.

“Nnnn, pleeeaaaase Phobos!”

“Pfft! So impatient!” said Phobos, dropping his hand to cup Abel’s cock where it tented the front of his uniform pants and stroking firmly over the fabric.

“Ahhn!” Abel made a wordless noise and thrust up to meet his hand.

“You know, Abel, _someone_ really should give you a birthday blow job, if Cain is going to skirt his duties as a boyfriend,” Phobos whispered, slightly hoarse, fingers trailing up to find the button on the other navigator’s waistband.

As if summoned like an ancient demon at the mention of his name, a message came through on Abel’s datapad, which chimed from the top of the drawers where it had been abandoned with Phobos’ earlier in the evening, screen glowing.

“Oh, I should probably check that.”

The mood instantly changed, Abel swinging his legs off the bed to go over and retrieve the device, stumbling a little on the way. Evidently, the booze had hit him harder than he’d expected.  

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Abel?”

With a very unsubtle noise of frustration, Phobos sat up, then strode over to read from behind Abel’s shoulder.

 

**Cain**

_heyyyy princess, the fuck r u?_

_you’re brithday surprise isn’t gunna wait around 4ever ;P_

Looking up from the screen, Phobos watched as Abel chewed on his lip again, staring at the message. Phobos cleared his throat and Abel startled, looking up as well. Unable to hold eye contact, his gaze slid away from Phobos’ as he turned off the device and began doing his jacket up again, fumbling a little with the zipper.  

“I’d… I’d better go… um, thanks soooo much, Phobos,” he said, speaking quickly, trying to sound more sober than he clearly was, “For being such a good friend and, uh, making my birthday so much betterrrr!”

“Whatever.”

“Really, I aahhppreciate it,” Abel slurred a little, looking like he wanted to add something, but after a pause, simply giving Phobos a sheepish smile and ducking out the door to the hall. It slid closed behind him, leaving Phobos alone, confused, and horny.

With a dramatic sigh, he picked up the forgotten bottle of contraband.

“Stupid Abel and his stupid, ugly fighter,” he muttered, fighting with the cap in his slightly inebriated state. Just as he got the bottle open, he was distracted by the sound of voices down the hall near the lift; the doors didn’t do much to cut noise from outside.

“Oh! Cain! What are you doing, uhhhh, here?”

“Could ask you the same thing, Princess. Fuck, I can smell you from here! Heh, guess you aren’t gonna need the vodka I got for you. What the fuck have you been doing all night?”

“Just some woooork–”

“Bullshit, Abel.”

Whatever else Abel came up with to placate his dog was too quiet to make out from behind the door, so Phobos just sat down heavily on his bed and started to drink again. However, he only managed to get two sips in before the door to his room slid open once more.

Abel’s dishevelled blond head poked back into the room and looked over at him.

“Oh, Phobos! I almost forgot to say, we should do this agaaaain to celebrate on yoooouuuurr birthday!” The other navigator lilted sideways a bit as he aimed a tipsy attempt at a seductive smile in Phobos’ direction.

“Pfft, _as if_. I have better plans for my birthday, thank you very much! I don’t need to spend it with you like some sad, lonely loser.” Phobos deflected, taking another drink, though he secretly wondered if he could actually manage to get some from both Porthos and Abel that day. He tucked away the knowledge for future consideration.

“Abel, come the fuck on!” whined Cain, coming into view in the small segment of hall Phobos could see from where he sat. He was visibly agitated, as usual. Phobos scrunched his nose up at the sight of the lewd, obnoxious Russian.

“Ugh, go away and take your fighter with you before he starts humping the door frame or something, Abel!”

“Jealous?” Cain asked, turning and giving a little hip thrust in his direction.

“Eugghhh, in your dreams!” Phobos made a gagging noise, “I’d rather fuck Deimos, and I’d only resort to that if he were the last man on the _Sleipnir_.”

“Ohhhh, you’re missing out, Phobos,” drawled Abel, slurring the words together a bit and taking another half step into the room.

“Would you two go slut it up somewhere that isn’t my room? I need my beauty sleep.”

“Surrrre you don’t want to join us, instead?” Abel tried again, completely shameless.

Phobos drained the last of the contraband before deigning to respond. “You’d need about 20 more of these for that to happen,” he said, holding up the empty bottle.

“I can arrange that,” said Cain with a wolfish grin, one hand now on the doorframe, standing just behind Abel.

“Noooooo! Cainnnn, he’d die of alcohol poisoning!”

“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious, Abel,” snapped Phobos, getting more irritated by the second, despite the warm fuzziness of the alcohol hitting his own system, “That _was_ the intention of my statement. I’d have a threesome with you two only over my own dead body.”

“Oh, wellllll… if you just want a _little death_ , I think I can manage thaaaat,” said Abel, taking a larger step toward him.

“GET OUT!” Phobos stood—managing not to sway too much as his head spun with the sudden motion—and walked over as quickly as he could, pushing Abel out, where he stumbled backwards into Cain’s waiting arms. “Oh my god, you two are disgusting! Stop defiling my room with your presence!”

Slamming his hand on the door panel, Phobos closed it in their faces before he could make a very regrettable decision; Abel looking back at him hungrily, lips still a bit swollen from kissing earlier. He let his forehead drop against the smooth, hard surface of the door. _Stupid Abel and his stupid birthday!_

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to [on_the_wing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing), who is great for developing silly head canons with, such as the “writing emo poetry in a ventilation shaft” idea. Originally it was Cain and Praxis, but you know Deimos is definitely in on that action, and Phobos would never let him live it down if he ever found his notebook.


End file.
